Where the Ones I Loved Walked
by Choco Scorpion Bat
Summary: Carter Furman never knew a normal life. Born just after the Cordyceps plague devastated the world, all he knew was a life of fear. Fear of THEM. The infected ones. Now, 18 years old and alone in a desolate world, he must survive by himself, where the ones he loved walked and died.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: ©2013 SONY COMPUTER ENTERTAINMENT AMERICA LLC. THE LAST OF US IS A TRADEMARK OF SONY COMPUTER ENTERTAINMENT AMERICA LLC. CREATED AND DEVELOPED BY NAUGHTY DOG, INC. [Taken from the Naughty Dog website]

A/N: _The Last of Us: Damnation_ has been put on an indefinite hold until further notice. Also, this story will be focusing more on emotion and development than action. I will also be throwing in some horror, but only from time to time.

Chapter I

Carter Furman had never known a normal life. When the world ended in 2013, Carter had just been born. His entire life was spent in hiding, scavenging for food and weapons. He had known no other life other than one of fear and loathing of THEM. The infected. The ones who roam in packs, aimlessly mumbling incoherently, blindly attacking anything different. Carter grew up in a living hell.

Now, 18 years after the outbreak, Carter is alone, and forced to fend for himself in a world that is out to get him.

YEAR: 2031

DATE: Tuesday, June 10th

TIME: 6:31 PM

LOCATION: Indianapolis, Indiana

Carter warily walked down the deserted street of downtown Indianapolis, keeping alert for any enemies in the area. Long obsolete papers gently fluttered in the evening breeze, which was unusually cool for June. The teen shivered and pulled his moth-eaten hoodie tighter around himself. He tightened his grip on the Magnum and stepped into an empty store. Carter quietly hurried over to a shelf and began sifting through the contents. Chips, meat sticks, sweets. All of it rotten. Grunting in annoyance, he started on the lower portion. Same result. Refusing to give up, the teen moved on. Rotten, rotten, rotten. Success. A good bag of jerky. Carter grinned and put the spoils in his backpack. He vaulted behind the counter and began looking for smokes to trade at an outpost. You would be surprised how much people valued the Silent Killer these days. He was in luck – six packs of Marlboros. Jackpot! He placed these in the backpack as well.

Before getting up, Carter grabbed a few bottles and some rags. He zipped up his backpack and climbed through the window. Time to hit the next store. His watch beeped suddenly, breaking the silence. He looked at his wrist. 6:45 PM. He jostled his backpack and began back to his base camp. The next hit would have to wait until tomorrow. It was already too late. Carter turned a corner onto West Ohio Street. The Sheraton Hotel was directly ahead. Carter sped up to a brisk pace, hoping to beat the dusk. To beat THEM. He checked his watch. 6:56 PM. He broke into a run. He could hear THEM. They were coming out. Hunting. They could smell him. His heart began to pump wildly. He tripped. Carter picked himself back up. They were coming. He could hear their growling and moaning. Closer. Closer. Closer. He could see the doors. Almost there. He dove into the lobby and barricaded the doors. Safe. No time to rest. He had to get to the second level. He jogged up the stairs to the second floor, and opened the first door on the left, sliding down to the floor when it shut. He sat there, breathing hard, catching his breath. He cleared his throat and wiped the sweat from his brow.

He had made it. Carter rested his head against the cool oak door and sighed deeply. His heart thundered inside his chest. After a moment's rest he got to his feet and tossed his backpack onto the old bed. The dust flew up into the air and hung there in the haze. Carter unzipped the backpack and dumped out his meager spoils. One bag of jerky, six packs of smokes, and a few bottles and rags. Pathetic. Well, at least he could trade the smokes for rations at the Indianapolis Outpost. It wouldn't be much, though; just enough to tide him over three days at the most. He ripped open the bag of jerky and bit into one. The meat had little taste but felt good going down nonetheless.

Very soon, he drifted off to sleep.

 _The pain. The pain. The intense pain. Never stopping. Never ending. Ceaseless, horrible pain. The grumbling. The moaning. The wretched and the cursed. THEY. THEM. US. THEY caused this. THEY created US. We hate THEM. THEY hate US. Death. Rot. Disease. Decay. Mold. The horrible pain._

Carter woke up, bolting upright, a cold sweat coating his face and T-shirt. He trembled, his breathing ragged. He ran a hand through his mussed hair and groaned. The same nightmare every night for over a year. He couldn't escape it. It invaded his sleep constantly. Always the same. THEY. THEM. US. What did it mean? What was it trying to say? He shook his head and got out of bed. He checked his watch. 3:23 AM. He walked over to the window and opened it, allowing the cool night air inside. Down below he could see the infected ones shambling around with no goal. He grimaced darkly. After a short time standing in the cool breeze he walked over to the bathroom and turned the faucet. A small trickle of cold water came from the pipe and he washed his face. Carter wiped the grime from the cracked mirror and watched his reflection. The crack made his face appear disjointed. Wait…

A shriek. A crash. An explosion of water as the sink was shattered. Carter stumbled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He grabbed his backpack and turned to leave, only to find his escape route blocked by the feral creature.

THEMTHEMTHEMTHEMTHEMTHEMTHEM….

THEY had somehow found a way inside. Which meant this was no longer a safe place. He had to leave. Had to get past the thing before him. The thing that looks human but is not human. The infected clutched its head in what seemed like agony, and shrieked again, dashing towards Carter. It closed the gap in less time than it took for him to blink. The creature tackled Carter. He grunted in surprise as the two fell to the floor. The infected snarled and gnashed its teeth in his face, saliva dripping from its lips onto his neck. Carter fought the urge to vomit from the stench. He gave a heave and tossed the infected off of him. This one had surprising strength despite being emaciated. The thing screeched again and charged. Carter vaulted over the bed and grabbed a sharpened broom handle. He whacked the creature in the side of the head and kicked it away. The thing stumbled and he took his chance. With a great yell he charged forward and buried the handle in the temple of the monster. The infected gave a croaking cry and was still.

Carter fell back, in shock. He had not expected any of them to figure out a way inside so quickly. He laid his head back against the end of the bed, taking a moment to catch his breath. He placed a hand against his temple and took a ragged breath. He instantly jerked back to conscious thought at the sound of distant shrieking growing closer. He bolted up and grabbed his backpack. The teen placed his back against the wall and peeked outside into the hallway. It was clear. He silently moved down the corridor, taking care not to make any noise. The groans and cried of THEM were growing closer. He just had to hope against hope that he managed to avoid a pack. Dealing with just one infected was dangerous enough. But a horde… Carter shook his head. Don't think of that. Just move.

He came to a split in the corridor. It was too dark to see without a light, so he took his flashlight out of his jacket pocket. He slowly pressed the switch and stifled a scream. Right in front of him, facing away, was a clicker. It was hunched over, twitching violently. Carter's heart skipped a beat in terror. He had no knife to kill it. He slowly backed away, sweating bullets. Something shattered in one of the rooms. The clicker spun around, fully alerted, and shrieked. Carter cried out and dodged to his right, narrowly missing the clicker's grapple. The creature spun around again and ran towards him, flailing its arms wildly. Carter stumbled down the hallway and tripped over a bottle, falling onto his right arm. He felt it give out. He groaned in pain and flipped over onto his back. The clicker was right on top of him. He grabbed the bottle and smashed it over the monster's head. A piece of fungus broke off, revealing an empty eye socket with strands of fungus peeking out of it. The clicker staggered back, stunned. Carter took the chance and backed into a room, holding his aching arm. He kicked the door shut and backed into the bathroom, closing the door. Carter fell back into the tub and leaned against the wall, groaning in agony. He wasn't a doctor, but he was sure he had broken it. After a while of listening to THEM shriek and croak, he succumbed to the embrace of unconsciousness.

Carter awoke to a pulsating agony in his right arm. He groaned and gingerly sat up, clutching his forearm. He could feel the throbbing sensation through the thin cotton of his hoodie. He struggled to remember the previous night.

 _Gnashing teeth. Dripping saliva. Moldy flesh._

Carter winced at the memory and a needle sharp twinge of pain. He slowly got up, using his left arm to brace himself. He grunted at the effort, his knees popping from stiffness. He rolled out of the tub and slowly opened the bathroom door. Sunlight made the dust motes in the air glint. Carter opened the main door to the room and checked the hallway. Clear. Gripping his arm, he wandered down the corridor to the lobby. Gotta get to the Indianapolis QZ. Stock up on supplies. Get this arm looked at. He pulled out his tattered map of the Indianapolis downtown area and studied it briefly. Time to go.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: ©2013 SONY COMPUTER ENTERTAINMENT AMERICA LLC. THE LAST OF US IS A TRADEMARK OF SONY COMPUTER ENTERTAINMENT AMERICA LLC. CREATED AND DEVELOPED BY NAUGHTY DOG, INC. [Taken from the Naughty Dog website]

A/N: _The Last of Us: Damnation_ has been put on an indefinite hold until further notice. Also, this story will be focusing more on emotion and development than action. I will also be throwing in some horror, but only from time to time.

Chapter II

Carter adjusted his pack as he shuffled slowly towards the security gate of the Indianapolis QZ. Two guards stood stoically in front of the gate, while another four stood watch at the top. Barbed razor wire lined the edge of the concrete wall, with floodlights below it. To either side of the barricade was a military grade ATV with .50 caliber machine gun attachments. Carter steeled himself in preparation for the body search. Indianapolis did not play around. He approached the barricade and the soldier on the left stopped him.

"State your business and identity."

The name tag read Sgt. Dunaham.

"Carter Furman. I'm here for work duty. I live outside in the downtown district. Or… I used to anyway."

The soldier creased his brow and got out a scanner. Carter tensed up. Dunaham noticed.

"Easy kid. We're just checking to make sure you aren't infected. You have nothing worry about. If you're clean, that is."

Carter nodded curtly, and the soldier motioned for him to turn around. The teen complied and the soldier placed the scanner on the nape of his neck. The device beeped and the soldier removed it.

"You're clear, kid. You can go in."

Carter hoisted his pack and moved to enter the QZ, but Dunaham grabbed his arm.

"Don't cause any trouble and we won't have any problems. Capiche?"

"Capiche."

Carter shook the guard's hand free and walked inside. The Indianapolis QZ was bustling with the remnants of the city population. Sanitation workers were busy cleaning refuse and garbage out of the streets and allies, and military personnel bustled about, keeping order and moving equipment. Carter heard a gunshot and a woman scream. He looked to his left and saw people in hazard suits in front of a small group of civilians. One of the civilians lay in a pool of crimson blood. The young man looked to be in his late twenties, possibly early thirties. He was dead, a single bullet hole in his head.

"That's what happens when you hide out in derelict buildings," one of the hazard workers said. He stepped over to the woman, blubbing in tears and terror. The scanner beeped a positive read. The woman cowered more.

"P-please… please… d-don't kill m-me…" she whimpered. The hazard worker aimed his gun at the back of her head.

"Sorry."

Carter looked away as he pulled the trigger. A wet splat was heard as the now dead woman's body hit the pavement. The brutality of it sickened Carter. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see one of the hazard workers.

"Show's over, kid, Move on," he growled. Carter jerked his shoulder away and walked towards the guard pavilion.

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pants pocket and opened it, revealing a faded and torn photograph of a young woman. She had auburn hair and jade eyes, with a lopsided smile that gave her dimples. Her face was covered in freckles and she had a faint scar on her right eye that ran vertically up and down. She wore a navy blue hoodie and wore a necklace with a Greek omega on it. Carter flipped the torn photograph over to read a single word on the back: Sam.

Sam. For some reason he believed she would be here, in Indianapolis. His instincts told him to check at the guard pavilion. Perhaps somebody here could help him locate her. He replaced the old photograph in his pants and looked up. A line stretched into the pavilion. Two signs hung from the top of the pavilion. The left one read "Work Duty" and the right one read "QZ Peace Force Sign Up". Carter moved into the right line. Before long it was his turn to speak with the recruiter. The man read aloud the terms and conditions in a voice that suggested he would rather be doing anything except this.

"By signing up for the QZ Peace Force you understand that any accident or injury you sustain while on the job is not the fault of the Indianapolis QZ Guard and you forfeit all civilian rights and privileges for the betterment of the Indianapolis QZ. You must be 18 years or older to be recruited. Are these terms clear?"

Carter cleared his throat.

"Um, actually I was hoping you could help me find someone," he said. He brought out the old photograph and the recruiter sighed.

"Look, kid-"

"Carter."

"Look, Carter, I don't find people. That's not my shtick. I just recruit people. You gotta talk to Captain Anderson for that shit. Next!"

The recruiter pointed behind him at an African American soldier who seemed to be deep in conversation with another soldier. The captain was very decorated, boasting many medals and badges on his uniform. Carter walked over and waited while the officer finished his talk.

"And don't let it happen again, Morgan, or I'll have you demoted!" Anderson barked. Morgan nodded and saluted and hurried off to whatever task he had to do. Anderson turned to acknowledge Carter.

"What can I do for you young man?" He extended his hand. "Captain David Anderson at your service."

Carter accepted the handshake.

"Uh, Carter Furman, sir."

Anderson invited him inside his tent and motioned for him to take a seat. The captain walked behind a table and sat down, his fingers touching. Carter pulled out the photograph and handed it Anderson.

"I'm looking for this girl, sir. I was told to talk to you about finding her," he said. He tapped his fingers on his patched jeans anxiously. Anderson flipped the photograph over.

"Sam…" he mumbled to himself. He looked up at Carter. "Do you know this girl?"

Carter shook his head.

"Why the interest?"

Carter stopped tapping his fingers and looked down. The captain waited patiently.

"She…"

Carter paused.

"Go on, son."

"She… knows where my brother is."

"Your brother?"

Carter recounted everything that had happened to him in the past year. The captain listened, unflinching, unrelenting in his gaze. Carter looked up at the captain, desperation in his eyes.

"Please, sir. You have to help me find her! She knows where John is!"

The captain placed the torn picture on his table and stood up.

"Kid, let me tell you something. I've been at this game a long time. A long, long time. The one thing I've learned throughout this entire shit storm is this: Ain't nobody gonna be found if they don't want to be."

Carter jumped up out of his chair.

"You have to help me! I need to know if my brother is alive!"

The captain furrowed his brow.

"Sit down, son! I didn't say I wasn't going to help you."

Carter backed down and Anderson picked up the picture again. He placed a hand on his chin and mumbled to himself.

"I'll have some of my men scout the area. I can't guarantee anything. The Indianapolis QZ is a large place."

Carter sighed gratefully.

"Thank you, sir! I really appreciate this."

Anderson waved him off.

"Yeah, yeah. In the meantime, make yourself useful. There's no point in you staying here if you don't contribute to the community. Go speak with the work duty recruiter. He'll have something for you to do."

Carter nodded and shook Anderson's hand, and left the tent. He walked over to the work duty recruiter and spoke to him.

"Age."

"Eighteen."

"Any special skills?"

"Uh…"

"Sanitation. Next!"

Carter sighed and took the slip of paper from the recruiter. Great. He got to clean shit off the streets. He grumbled to himself and kicked a can. He suddenly had a thought. What was he going to do for housing? This wasn't the outside anymore. He couldn't just go into any building he pleased. He turned back to the recruiter.

"Housing commission is down the street and to the left. Can't miss it. Now get lost, kid."

He threw up a bird and shuffled away. Jackass. He was getting really tired of being called "kid". It was nearing evening now. The shadows were growing longer and the air cooler. Carter contemplated his situation as he walked. What if the girl called Sam was not here? What if this whole ordeal was for nothing? Was he wasting his time?

John.

Where was he? What was he up to? Was he even alive? Carter sighed heavily. He stopped walking. The housing commission was closed. Carter groaned. He was sleeping in an ally tonight. Fantastic. Carter turned around and searched for an area relatively clear of garbage to bed down for the night. He threw his pack down on the ground and lay down. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

Maybe.


End file.
